Barry leant forward to the knob and began talking eagerly about Sparta. “And Marge’s going to teach Clare to ride. Mike wanted to, but—”
Clare’s face was red as she touched Barry’s shoulder and he turned a startled face. He turned back to the transceiver.
“Clare’s mad about something – I don’t know why,”
he reported.
Later, Val chuckled. “Barry drops the choicest bricks. Now it’ll be all round the place that Mike is giving you the runaround and you gave him the, brush-off. Not that Mike’ll mind. The harder the chases the sweeter the prize.”
Clare’s first riding lessons were conducted with a minimum of falls and fuss, but while the children seemed to get a lot of amusement Clare acquired a great deal of stiffness.
“Anything worth doing must be paid for,” Ian chuckled over the chess board.
“I think Snowy and I are allergic to one another,”
Clare said unhappily. “I sense her resentment every time I get on her back.”
Ian grinned. “Make friends with her first. Take plenty of sugar. She probably senses your lack of confidence, Clare. Horses are so darned good at reading minds.”
Val laughed. “Horses don’t like me either, Clare.”
She was embroidering an intricate chair-back and bent her lovely head over her work, giving them a smile.
“Clare” — Ian’s hand paused above the chessboard —“you’ve been here long enough now to judge. What do you think of the Outback?”
She looked round her. “If this is the Outback, Ian, it’s fabulously luxurious and the friendliest place in the world — but I saw a different Outback.”
She told them about Maggie and Bill — the stark, shabby but spotlessly clean shack. “There’s poverty and hardship and courage. Is that the real Outback or is this?”
Ian nodded. “My word, you’re right. That is. Life wasn’t like this in my youth.”
“Progress, darling,” Val pointed out.
“Tell me about this couple,” Ian said.
Clare was glad to do so. She told them everything —right from the moment Maggie met Bill in the library where she worked until the time this last baby arrived.
“They’re such nice people,” Clare said warmly.
“And so much in love. They’ve only got an old treadle transceiver, so Maggie doesn’t often use it.”
Ian murmured something and left them. Val smiled.
“Well, Clare, thanks to you, Ian’s got an idea. He likes to invest money in struggling but sincere farmers.
I bet he’s making a note right now, and later on he’ll get in touch with their local bank and contact your friend.
Bill, and things will start. He has a theory about farming — says a man needs a backer who believes in him and will encourage him and wait patiently for repay-ment. If I tell him he’s generous, he gets annoyed. Calls it a form of investment.”
“David got mad with me, too,” Clare said, telling Val about Mrs. Pirandello, the New Australian, who was staying to help Maggie for a few weeks.
Val laughed. “David and Ian are brothers, but men are peculiar. If we don’t praise them, we’re unappreciative. If we do, we’re exaggerating!”
When Clare heard that Zoe was coming home, she had mixed feelings. Since her return from Baroona Hospital, life had fallen into placid, pleasant ways. Val and Barry were friends; Marge and Barry shared interests in their ponies, their painting, their games of chess, and Clare could not help wondering what effect the eleven-year-old girl would have. She came in the Flying Doctor plane, along with the mail and supplies, and everyone expected David to bring her. Clare was tensed for his arrival, dreading yet longing for it, but the young girl told them her Uncle David was away.
“He sent letters,” she said, handing them out. “One for everyone,” Zoe added, looking at Clare warily.
Clare returned the look and saw a tall, thin girl with thick black plaits, and grave intense eyes. She took the letter Zoe gave her and turned it over in her hands before putting it in her pocket to read later.
Barry’s warm reception of Zoe startled her, and Zoe treated Barry in an offhand fashion which he seemed to like. He told her about Sparta, the clinic, the school, and Zoe listened with a supercilious smile, but later, Clare noticed, Zoe was ready to take an interest in every scheme.
Later that same day she had a quiet talk with Zoe, finding the girl hostile and suspicious at first, but discovering she could break down this barrier by appealing for Zoe’s aid.
“Barry thinks you’re wonderful, Zoe — and so does your father.” She was able, by quoting something Ian had said, to reassure Zoe that her father had wanted a “child” and was not disappointed because Zoe proved to be a girl.
They had a long quiet talk, and Zoe promised to teach Clare the names of the Australian plants and trees.
It was not until she had gone to her room to change for the evening meal that Clare read David’s letter.
It was a strange letter, written disjointedly, as if he had been interrupted, or as if he had changed his mind halfway through about what he wanted to say.
Dear Clare (it began),
It’s difficult to say anything on the air—most of all what I want to, and every time I try, something interrupts us. I began to at Bill’s, but the kids interrupted us and I had to fly back to Baroona. Then I heard that the relief Sister was coming and I tried to talk to you in the hospital and we got into a stupid argument. Next I planned to talk on the plane to Noorla and that wretched emergency came up, so here I am. I’m hopeless at putting my thoughts into words, but maybe you can guess them. Anyhow, Clare, promise me one thing. When I manage to get up to Noorla, don’t avoid being alone with me, for I’ve got to talk to you.
Clare read it through three times, trying to understand. Why should he think she might try to avoid him?
He had begun to talk about it at Bill’s. Her hand flew to her mouth and she turned and saw her reflection in the mirror, her suddenly flushed cheeks, her shining eyes.
So he had felt what she had felt? A strange excitement. A breathless understanding? She had not imagined it. Something had happened and they had both known it.
Dared she hope? Why else could he have written her?
He wanted her to know how he felt.
What had he said? She read the letter again. He had said that maybe she could guess his thoughts…
Such a wave of happiness swept her as she held the letter close. And then such a wave of fear that she was shivering. If only she could be sure. Whatever happened, she must not make the same mistake twice, read into David’s words something he did not mean. Maybe he thought she has falling for Mike and wanted to warn her. Maybe—? Maybe?
CHAPTER NINE
THE days passed, and every night Clare read and re-read the letter from David. She was still not sure what he meant — and still afraid she might have read into his words something he did not mean.
Zoe seemed to have settled down and was now part of them all, sharing in everything, helping with the hour-long school for Aborigines, interested in the clinic, even trying her hand at painting, specializing in weird-looking abstracts.
One night, playing chess with Ian, Clare commented on this.
“It’s really wonderful how much she knows, Ian.
She’s teaching me botany— now I know what spinifex is and the names of the tropical plants, but it’s even more than that. She told me that if I was ever lost in the bush, I could always find the north side, for that was the part of a tree where kangaroos never sat. They like shade, she told me, and the north side of a tree is the only part where it’s always sunny!” Clare paused and laughed.
“And is it true,” she went on, while Val laid down her embroidery and looked up, “that the kangaroo has a baby that’s only an inch long?”
“An inch long?” Val echoed.
“M’m. And according to Zoe, this little inch-long creature is not only blind and deaf but its hind parts can�
�t move, yet it climbs up the front of its mother and hides in the pouch.”
“Quite right,” Ian said. “Before the baby is born, the mother cleans out the pouch thoroughly. There’s one teat inside it, and that little blind helpless creature finds that teat and fastens on to it.”
“Well, I never knew that,” Val said slowly. “How is it Zoe knows so much?”
“I think she’s very interested in everything to do with life,” Clare said. “She’s lending Barry a book on ants.
She’s an amazing child, Ian.”
Ian smiled. “I know. I’m glad you get on well with her, Clare. She isn’t always easy.”
“Know something else, Ian?” Clare said, looking thoughtfully at the chessmen on the board: “She wants to farm.”
“Well, I’ll be—!” Ian said it slowly.
Clare looked at him. “She says women make as good farmers as men. Says they replace brawn with brains.”
Ian was laughing, his heavily built body shaking.
“That sounds like my Zoe!”
Clare went on with the game, content. She had made a small return to Ian for his goodness to Maggie. Maggie had talked on the galah session to Clare, telling her of the wonderful new loan Bill had got, and the absurdly cheap modern transceiver set that had been offered them. Now Ian would talk to Zoe about his cattle, and—The days passed pleasantly, but still David did not come. His letter was getting crumpled from being read so often, but the hospital and everywhere seemed full of sick or injured people. Everyone hoped the epidemics would clear up before the big picnic that everyone on the galah session was talking about. Nearly as exciting as the’ picnic race meetings, Val told Clare, and everyone had a new dress. There would be a barbecue, sports for children, a sing-song. Val made Clare a dress of blue georgette with a bloused bodice, and made herself a rose pink print. The children were talking excitedly about it, too.
Everyone awoke early on the day of the picnic, and Clare ignored her sore throat and headache until she looked in the glass. She took her temperature and began to wonder if she could have German measles, but there was no sign of a rash. She told Val she thought she ought not to go to the picnic, and Val agreed.
So Clare went back to bed, hearing the children’s laughter, Val’s happy voice, and then the roar of the cars, and Clare was alone except for Mrs. Astor, who loathed picnics and brought Clare cups of tea..
As the day dragged by, Clare dozed and awoke with a start to find Mrs. Astor shaking her.
“I don’t like to do this, my dear, but—” she was saying.
Clare’s head still throbbed but she sat up. “What’s wrong?”
“Lucas, one of the Abos, came in to say Jock, the stockman checking the fences, has been hurt. Bleeding badly and something broke, I gather. He can’t move.”
Clare was out of bed. “What do they usually do?” she asked.
“Mr. Johnson goes out and does what he can while Mrs. Johnson gets on the air to the doctor.”
Clare was dressing fast, in jeans and a shirt. “Is it serious enough? Maybe I can cope.”
“I reckon it’s pretty bad. Lucas is very upset, and he doesn’t frighten easily.”
“You can work the transceiver? Good. Call them.
Can Lucas drive?”
“You can only get there by horse. No car or truck here,” Mrs. Astor told her. “Lucas’ll take you.”
Clare groaned inwardly, for her riding was still very amateurish Would she be able to make it? She would have to! She went to the medicine chest, unlocking it, choosing drugs, splints, bandages, anything she thought she might need. Pulling on her shady hat, she went out into the blinding sunshine where Lucas was waiting, with Snowy already saddled.
Lucas wore a bright blue shirt, a faded pair of khaki trousers, and his grease-stained wide-brimmed hat pulled down over his eyes. He helped her mount Snowy and she adjusted the heavy shoulder bag and gathered the reins in her hands.
Snowy began to move with her usual steady gait, and Clare gave a last look at the homestead, knowing Mrs.
Astor was on the transceiver, talking to Hazel or who-
-ever was in charge.
Riding through the sunlight, her narrowed eyes watching Lucas’s long thin back as he led the way, his feet hanging low in the stirrups, she kept slapping the flies that crawled over her face. Had Jock broken a leg?
Or crushed his ribs? Would he be conscious? Would they get there in time? Mentally she checked the contents of her shoulder bag. Could she have forgotten anything? The sweat ran down her face, the jeans stuck to her, her shirt to her back. She ached all over, her head throbbing.
Through the glare, she watched Lucas’s back. Zoe had said Aborigines were wonderful at following tracks.
Once Zoe had said that if you got lost you were sure to die! A cheerful thought. Clare’s head nodded and jerked. Zoe had told her that the baobab tree had saved many lives — that rainwater was caught in the hollows of the branches and secreted in the spongy bark. But it had not rained for months! How she longed for a glass of ice-cold water–or one of Mrs. Astor’s hot cups of tea.
Had she got through to Baroona?
It was like a nightmare that had no hope of ending.
The heat was terrific, the glare unbearable, the flies infuriating. Her head kept nodding and she had to jerk herself awake. They rode along a narrow track that wound through the anthills. So quiet. So very quiet.
Alone in the world. Just the occasional clink of the bridle. Up in the dazzling sky, a hawk hovered. Ahead was a white gum, its bare branches poking out like dramatic, accusing fingers.
Snowy stopped and she jerked awake, blinking as she saw that Lucas had ridden back to her side and was looking at her. Something heavy was pulling at her arm and she saw that the shoulder bag Was siding down.
Lucas held out his hand silently and she gave him the bag to carry, How could she talk to him? She tried to remember the strange English the children used.
“Him white fella very long way?” she asked.
Lucas nodded and held up three fingers and pointed ahead. She nodded her head, then wished she hadn’t, for it began to throb more than ever. Lucas swung round and rode over the track before her, leading the way again. She forced herself to stay awake, reciting all the poems she had been taught at school, going over the lists of bones and muscles she had learned at the hospital for her examinations. She had to reach Jock and help him. Whatever happened, she had to get there.
She must not fall off Snowy and become a liability.
David would—
Her head jerked back as she heard a familiar sound in the sky. A glint of silver shone. The plane came closer, and Lucas was waving his hat wildly, shouting vainly. The plane circled, came very low overhead, dipping a wing.
“David—” Clare cried, recognizing the small plane.
How had he got here so quickly? How had he found them?
She shook herself and gathered the reins, forcing Snowy to go faster.
The plane came back, flying still lower, circling, dipping one wing again, and then it went speeding off into the blinding brightness of the air.
Suddenly Clare realized she had lost Lucas. He had vanished. The narrow track weaved its way through a lump of eucalyptus trees, and there was no sound or sight of the Aborigine.
She caught her breath with fear and fought the rising panic. If only Zoe had not told her so many hair-raising stories of what could happen if you got lost. The heat seemed to be worse, her skin felt burning hot and her head throbbed all the time. But she must get to Jock, in case David could find nowhere to land.
She lost all sense of time, and it seemed hours before she heard the roar of an engine, and ahead of her, out of the clump of shrubs, she saw a Land-Rover appearing.
Snowy stopped abruptly, flinging Clare, who was unprepared, forward, and then the Rover stopped and a man was running towards her.
Vaguely she saw Mike as she slid off the horse into his arms. “You poor darling,” he sa
id as he caught her.
Equally vaguely she heard David’s voice. “Is she all right?”
She stood, her eyes half closed, quite unconscious of how she looked, her face red and streaked with sweat and dust, her hat half off.
From a long way away, she heard David, and he sounded angry.
“Take her home at once, Mike, and see she goes to bed and stays there. I’m flying Jock down to the hospital. He’s pretty bad. Broken leg, crushed ribs. We’ll have to shoot the horse – he’s in pretty poor—”
And then Clare must have fainted, for everything faded out, and the next thing she knew she was back at the homestead, in bed, with Ma Astor fussing round her worriedly.
Later Val was there, asking a few questions, giving her the drugs. David had prescribed over the air when he got back to Baroona.
“Lucky David was with us. He said he was in the neighbourhood so he came over for part of the picnic.
One of the stockmen had a portable transceiver and got the message from Hazel.”
“And when I got the message that you had gone to find Jock, I told David how ill you were. Well, to put it mildly, he blew his top.”
“He sounded pretty mad,” Clare agreed.
“He was, with Ma Astor for letting you go. He told Mike to get over as fast as he could in the Rover and he’d signal if he saw you.”
“So that was why he dipped the wing of the plane?”
“M’m. Now your temperature’s to be taken and I’m to let him know how you are. You’re to stay in.bed and he’ll be down on Saturday.”
In the end, it was ten days before Clare was able to get up. She walked rather shakily to the verandah for tea with Val. Twice David had flown up, but Val had always been with him, and he had been impersonally, friendly. She had some virus, he decided, and it might take a while to throw it off. She had thought of apologiz-ing for her stupidity in leaving her bed and rushing out when she should, as a nurse, have known better. Yet she knew she would still do the same–Jock had needed her. How could she have stayed in bed and done nothing?
The doctors choice Page 11